Sylar Goes
by FieryEclipse
Summary: What would happen if Sylar was somehow inserted into the plots of horror films or put up against famous villains...? We all know he's unstoppable (and the most lovably adorable villain ever created), so how would he fare against the most (in)famous killers in movie and TV history...? Or, more aptly, how would they fare against him...?
1. Sylar Goes Camping (The Blair Witch)

**A/N** I'm planning on writing more as the inspiration hits, and I'm more than happy to take suggestions for possible "Sylar Goes" in future. If you have a villain or monster you want to see Sylar go up against, please tell me in the comments (although I'm trying to stay away from ghosts etc, I'm not too sure how he could get out of that!) ^.^ I don't watch many horror films and will snoop around to find more scenarios, but any ideas will be appreciated!

 **Sylar Goes Camping (The Blair Witch Project)**

Sometimes being the most powerful being on Earth can be exhausting. Sometimes it can be overwhelming, and the constant pull of potential future abilities can close in around Sylar and become all too much. Not that he would ever complain, of course. Just, sometimes, he thinks it would be nice to get away from it all for a bit.

And it's this thought that cements his decision to go camping by himself for a few days. He's never really been fond of living off nature, but at least out here he'll be by himself and able to just relax in peace and quiet, he reasons.

So he has set up his tent in the middle of the forest and is enjoying some peaceful solitude and a good book. Occasionally his enhanced hearing picks up a trio of noisy kids exploring the woods a while away, screeching and arguing with each other like there's no tomorrow. He doesn't care about them enough to listen in, and thinks it was just something about losing the map or one of them threw it away or whatever. Anyway, it's irrelevant.

The forest is otherwise perfect for him, and he can, for once, actually __relax__ without the constant nagging of Parkman, Bennet or the Petrellis hunting him down like the good ol' heroes they are. He finds it a welcome break to have no reason to defend himself or kill anyone for a few days. But if the kids keep noisily going on about their stupid video camera, he suspects they might end up treading on some dangerous territory...

They come and go within his range of hearing, however, and he manages to just ignore them. It's not the kids that are irritating him anymore. It's the constant interruption of strange noises around him, and the way he keeps finding weird little wicker dolls hanging around in trees. They're hardly a nice decoration, and so he feels safe to assume that someone is trying to intimidate him.

It's more than a little annoying.

By the second night he's had enough of all this: the mostly-aloneness, the uninterrupted reading, the sleeping on a lumpy ground. The kids have only screamed and shouted more, as if their world is ending or something! He finds himself missing the city, and missing the call of his power. He knows he never liked camping, and two days away has been more than enough.

But mostly he's had enough of the incessant attempts to frighten him. He woke that morning to find a conspicuous pile of twigs and stones set up outside his tent, and now he's just pissed off. So when the noises start again that night, and he can hear the same, distinct heartbeat that has haunted him the whole trip, he lets out a sigh, slams his book shut, wrestles his long legs out of his sleeping bag and prowls into the darkness of the trees. It's time to whet his appetite...

He follows the noises, unafraid and undaunted by the vastness of the forest or the proximity of his mysterious stalker. He comes to a stop, standing tall and elegant in the midst of whirling trees and clacking branches, and he knows __she's__ here somewhere.

He lets out a humourless laugh. "And people say __I__ have a sick hobby. At least mine accomplishes something. But __you__... using your ability to traumatize random hikers... where's the gain in that?" He tips his head a little and wrinkles his nose, clearly expressing his lowly opinion of his stalker.

The twigs and branches continue to crackle and the other strange noises increase with fervour, in a desperate attempt to up the fear factor. Sylar allows a tantalising smile to curve his lips, closes his eyes and allows his hearing to hone in on the location of the rapidly increasing heartbeat... "What is it they call you? The Blair what? Wench? Wretch? Oh, __witch__ , I'm sorry..." He chuckles, more than a little happy that he has been presented with the perfect excuse to cut his vacation short. There's only so much reading and isolation he can handle, after all.

Suddenly he extends a hand in the right direction, snapping his head up and allowing the satisfying weight under his telekinesis to tell him he caught his prey. The heartbeat is surging more than ever, he can hear pathetic little whimpers of fear and feel the useless struggling that everyone tries and fails to accomplish. The hunger is waking and stretching in his dark mind. He lifts his free hand, aiming precisely on the forehead he can't even see.

"Invisibility..." he thrums appreciatively, slowly drawing his finger in a horizontal line. "I've always wanted to try __that__ one..."


	2. Sylar Goes to the Beach (Jaws)

**A/N** Peter has convinced a worn-out Sylar to take a holiday with him, and after careful consideration they chose a lovely little holiday resort, Amity Island...

Also, I'm not sure how they happened to be in this setting, maybe they time traveled, maybe it's just not important, and hopefully you can read this without thinking too much into it... Anyway, enjoy :)

 **SYLAR GOES TO THE BEACH (JAWS)**

People are screaming, running, the beach is a crowded hoard of trampling feet and mass hysteria. Everyone is blinded by terror and fear, and all they can think is to _ _get__ __out of the water__.

But Sylar tries to ignore them. He frowns behind his sunglasses and focuses his attention deeper on his book, trying to block out the noise as best as he can. He doesn't go on holiday often, and it irritates him that the one time he's actually doing nothing but try to relax innocently in the sun, _ _this__ has to go and spoil it.

"We can't just sit here, we have to do something!"

"I thought the whole point of this holiday was to do exactly __nothing__." Sylar states, surveying Peter over the top of his shades. His partner's creased brow and pursed lips clearly state his disapproval, but it's true: that was what they agreed on. It's obvious he wants to jump up and help shepherd these people to safety, and Sylar smiles a little at that never faltering goodness. Then goes back to his book and spares no further thought to the panic-stricken crowd.

He works very hard at what he does, and deserves a break now and then, just like everyone else. Killing really can take a lot out of a guy. He hadn't even noticed how desperately he needed a break until Peter had coaxed him into booking a week here. The couple thought that Amity Island would be the perfect escape from all things __special__ and __company-related__. They knew the warnings, as did everyone, but unlike ordinary people, they knew an attack such as this wouldn't mean a thing to them. Unfortunately, they just hadn't considered how much it __would__ mean to the other holiday-goers, and therefore of course would affect them by association.

Sylar has been itching to get down here since arriving last night, but Peter had insisted they spend the night at the hotel instead. True, it had turned out to be a __very__ productive night, but now Sylar will be furious if all he gets is fifteen minutes on the sand before he's chased away for something this irrelevant. He curses Peter for keeping him in bed so long this morning, although he doesn't really mean it. Always one to need to be active, Peter has spent the past few minutes fidgeting and very pointedly ignoring their rule to "sit and do nothing". What a joke of a rule anyway, Sylar huffs, as his chair is jostled by the mass of running pedestrians.

After almost a full minute of failing to concentrate, Sylar admits defeat: there will be no relaxing until this debacle is over. The yelling and crying is too loud, and he can't stand feeling Peter's agitation poking him in the side of the head for much longer. There's even talks of closing the beach - he can hear the lifeguards shouting to each other. So unless he does something, his short-lived holiday will be over before he has the chance to even catch a tan.

"Stay here." He grumbles and gets up from his sun lounger. He knows Peter would do this himself, but unable to both heal and attack simultaneously would make that rather counter-productive. Peter lunges to catch hold of his hand before he takes two steps.

"Be careful." He says and squeezes Sylar's fingers, and that gives him just a little reason to maybe think this is a good decision after all.

"Won't be a sec." He replies, kisses the top of Peter's still drying, salty hair and stalks over to the sea, flip-flops flapping. It proves to be a bit of a struggle going against the pull of the crowd, but the beach is steadily emptying now. Irritated and cranky, he wastes no time on theatrics or showing off, and wades right into the water and over to the darkening blood stain and frothing, bubbling water.

The tide is barely deep enough to need to swim, but Sylar employs a handy hint of telekinesis to keep his head well and truly out of the water. He doesn't fancy getting blood in his mouth or on his new sunglasses. Unafraid by the epic mass of flesh and teeth, he approaches the thrashing bulk of the killer shark while it's still busy finishing off it's victim, and places his palm flat against its body before it even notices he's there.

It only takes a few seconds of Ted's condensed radioactive power to cook the shark to death from the inside out. When it falls still the water continues bubbling, but this time it's steaming and sizzling from the heat. Sylar is already more than irritated at his disturbance, and barely notices his skin healing over the scald marks from the boiling water. He adds one last, powerful blast to the shark for good measure, out of spite, mostly, and wonders if he should confess to his deed and be hailed a hero...? But then he thinks against it. He's had enough of so-called "heroes" to last him a lifetime. Peter is the only one worthy of the title, in his eyes.

By the time the lifeguards have gathered at the scene, scratching their heads and dumbfounded as to how the shark was somehow fried in the middle of the ocean, Sylar is happily back beside Peter on an identical sun lounger, legs crossed and once again deeply engrossed in Peter's copy of Pillars of the Earth, with the whole beach to themselves.


	3. Sylar Plays a Game (Saw)

**A/N** As always, Sylar can't pass up the opportunity to have some fun and terrorize a few people along the way. It IS a game, after all...

(Btw "Adam" refers to Adam from Saw, not Adam Monroe from Heroes - just in case anyone was confused!)

 **SYLAR PLAYS A GAME (SAW)**

Unfortunately, regeneration doesn't come with built in painkillers.

Sylar flinches a little and grits his teeth at the pain, leaning back heavily on the grimy tiles below him while he waits. Claire moans about not being able to feel pain anymore, but he wishes that __he__ didn't always have to experience the agonising limbo-state between obtaining the injury and starting to heal.

Thankfully it doesn't take long before the aching in his ankle subsides and his foot begins to grow back.

His unwitting companion just stares and stares from across the darkened room, face hilariously slack and as he watches Sylar heal. It's highly amusing, and the ever-present urge to declare his greatness makes him stretch and fake a yawn, as if just to prove how easy an action this is for him. Finally he can wiggle his newly re-grown toes and, satisfied, stands up in one smug, fluid motion. It feels great to be free.

"Not that this hasn't been __fun,__ but there comes a point when a game just drags on too long, don't you think, Adam?" He screws up his face in pretend pity, perfectly hiding his pleasure at seeing such terror in those eyes. "Enough is enough and all that." He's sick of the dirty, smelly, slimy tiles that have encased him for hours, and being trapped in one place for too long is beginning to drive him stir crazy.

Adam finally breaks out of his stunned stupor, and stars to whimper, pointing a trembling finger at where the blood stops in a straight line where Sylar's calf meets his new foot. After a few seconds of enjoying instilling such fear, the sounds just get annoying. "Relax. It's not the weirdest thing out there." Sylar drawls, then walks slowly into the centre of the room towards the body lying on the floor. He stops right at the rim of the pool of blood spilled from the blown open head. Sylar is already soaked in the stuff, but his own blood is one thing: someone else's, when not driven by the hunger, is quite another.

"Hmmm." He purrs, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and allowing a smirk to sharpen his face. "I'll bet you're __dying__ to be able to peek right about now, aren't you? You're probably wondering why there was no screaming? And why I'm able to stand right here next to you on my __own two feet__...?"

"Wh... who're you __talking__ to...?"

Sylar rolls his eyes at Adam and kneels down in a jovial manner. "Our buddy here! See, you thought __I__ was hiding the best secret this whole time? Really, we should be applauding John on his excellent work! Isn't that right John?" He reaches down and shakes John's shoulder cheerfully, pleased to hear the pulse quicken accordingly. A dry chuckle rumbles into the room, and Sylar just can't resist the urge to monologue. It's just too satisfying, and these poor suckers will never have any idea what hit them if he doesn't spell it out simply for them.

"You see John... I've been onto you since the beginning. You might be able to dress like a corpse, you might be __weeks__ away from actually _ _becoming__ a corpse, but until your heart stops beating so loudly, you can't hide from me..." He pouts mockingly down at the still motionless body. More seconds tick by and he's beginning to lose his patience. "C'mon John!" He prompts, followed by a sharp prod to the back of the neck. "The game is up! You lost! I played by all the rules, I put on a good show, and __still__ I came out on top. So who's the real winner here...?" He then leans right down to whisper gleefully into John's ear, so close he can smell the costume prosthetics on his face. " __I am__."

Sylar loves winning. Almost as much as he loves asserting his superiority.

Finally, the not-dead body stirs, and the old man gets shakily to his feet, out-smarted, scared and most of all, dumbfounded. This time there is no faux-friendly air around Sylar and he glowers at John icily, talking over Adam's gurgle of fear. "Next time, make sure you know who you're dealing with before you willingly lock yourself in a room with them."

With a few simple flicks of his fingers; John is telekinetically dragged to the shackle that Sylar has easily bent open in waiting, it then slams shut around the old man's ankle, and the hinges are welded shut with a quick blast of radioactive heat. There's no way to escape without taking the saw-to-bone route, and Sylar takes the time to briefly admire his handiwork before turning his back on the two men and sauntering to the door.

"You - you won't get away with this! I invented the rules! You can't beat me!" John wheezes and coughs, and Sylar would almost feel sorry for such a pitiful specimen if said specimen hadn't just attempted to kidnap and trap him here.

Sylar tuts. "You're going to play a game... and if you play by the rules like a good boy, I see no reason why you can't survive this." He gives the discarded saw a pointed look, then flicks the door open with one finger and a twitch of his eyebrows. "Have fun..."

The door slams shut heavily, the noise reverberating along with another rumbling chuckle that lingers in the room behind him.


End file.
